


Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy [Old]

by VulcanicEruption



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Blood, Demon Dean Winchester, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulcanicEruption/pseuds/VulcanicEruption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean lets slip some deep dark angsty secrets when Cas and Sam try to cure him. Drabble, rushed, unbeta'd. Possibly redo later and turn into a full-length fic. Feedback is welcomed.</p><p>  <i>Hey boy, where did you get it from?</i><br/><i>Hey boy, where did you go?</i><br/><i>I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of loverboys.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy [Old]

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [these](http://justdestiel.tumblr.com/post/86566520539/i-am-dying-for-a-post-9x23-fic-with-demon-dean) [posts](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com/post/86377119022/no-but-demon-dean-being-all-filthy-mouthed-and).

Dean is strapped into a chair and he can’t stop talking.

It isn’t as deranged as it sounds. He’s still flying on the high of rising from the dead, days after Sam found him black-eyed and bastardized.

Dean remembers it vaguely beneath the cocktail drug of demon blood, recalls Sam letting out a choking gasp of air as he barged into the room. Dean blinked open his eyes, took in the room, took in Crowley, took in the slam of the door as the moose galloped in. That was when he sat up, crawled like an animal from the bed, and stared at his brother with a gaping expression.

Fifty years had passed between life, death, and life; fifty years had been compressed into those long minutes that he’d been torn down and stripped bare and flayed open in the fires of hell.

When his eyes flicked open, he didn’t realize what ceiling it was that he was staring at, not at first, not with the delirious demon drugging his flesh and bone. He was strung out in demonism on the subatomic level, high off of a transformation that his soul couldn’t handle. No wonder Sam got hooked - the stuff was horrible, the stuff was incredible, and Dean was pushed further than Sam had ever been. The stuff was in every fiber of his being.

The high never faded and the power beat its wings madly in his chest, pushing him to let himself explode. He couldn’t focus on much more than the relentless thrum of energy through his body, even with vials of blood being filled just feet away from him. He couldn’t remember what Cas or Sam looked like when they first saw him, saw the way he was now. It would’ve bothered him if he wasn’t out of his fucking mind.

Now he sees Cas standing in front of him with a stony expression. It’s the first time that Castiel has gotten close to looking him in the eye, perhaps because Dean’s afraid on some level to let his eyes fade from black to green. Perhaps because on the surface the demon is reckless, ravenous, his primal instinct telling him to shred apart this celestial creature.

Finally he does let the black film slide away. He recognizes Cas and Sam now, but they’ve never seemed more distant. The slick of crusted-over emotion, though, it’s there still, it’s creeping up his burnt-out soul and reaching for light. It’s the only thing in this ecstasy that bothers him, so Dean lets it out in the hopes that he’ll expel it for good.

Even now, the sight of the grand angel makes his skin sensitive. He’d never let himself notice it before, but it’s the only sensation now to grab his attention and it’s the only thing that stands out in the haze. It doesn’t mean much, but it gives him something to do, makes his crotch warm, and he relents to the twisted pleasure. “You miss me, angel?” he says, putting on a sweet wide smile that he knows makes Castiel die inside. “I sure missed you.”

There’s a muscle in Castiel’s face that twitches when he says that. Dean grins wider, barks out a laugh, and reclines in his seat. Beneath the wing beats of power, the old, creeping tension takes hold at the base of his throat, and he’s dying to release it into the ether. “I thought about you on the way down,” he croons. His voice is a low, exaggerated purr that drifts toward the angel.

The only noise that comes out of Castiel is a soft and breathy hiss.

“Oh, yes,” Dean says, “all the long way down. It surprised me. In the back of the Impala. My own personal highway to hell. Spreading you back against the seat in your tie and trenchcoat, your huge puppy-dog eyes on me. Having the comet himself just like putty in my hands, rock-solid and afraid of me? Pretty damn nice introduction to this whole thing …

“Only a fantasy, but, then, so it goes.”

Cas is stiff and Sam is still, hunched over several feet away by the supplies. He turns his face only slightly to look over at them, and seems to freeze, and Dean can hear Sam’s blood heat and heart speed up at the direction this one-sided conversation is taking. So Dean drives on, letting his head loll back, eyes laughing up at them. “I thought about you all the time, you know, before. It was a nice little secret to keep me warm in bed. You were nice. In the sweet, violent way, fit for any fantasy, I mean, hell. When I wasn’t under the covers in the motel alone, stroking the little one-eyed snake, thinking about bending over your body and stripping off the coat and slitting my lips into your mouth and slipping a hand into your pants, I had a hard-on for your hands on me against the mattress or against the car. Cupping each cheek and sliding yourself all over the place until I was jumping out of my skin and you finally started plowing into me with no warning until I was all squealy and helpless and filling up with that angelic shit you carry around inside of that angel blade of yours … yeah, I had fantasies like that. A little secret for myself.”

Sam’s face is positively red. Dean smiles even more broadly and looks straight up at Cas, licking his lips. “And I wanted your little tongue circling my _anus_ , Cas, yeah, burrowing in and sliding out and sliding down by balls and up my dick so I didn’t know what would come next. I was as much excited about the idea of your fucking face, your jaw spreading open over my cock as I was about the feeling of it everywhere. I wanted you everywhere, Cas, and you didn’t even know?” He chuckles. “You can’t tell me you didn’t even know.”

“Dean, stop,” Castiel says, walking close to the chair and shooting Dean a furious look with his nostrils flared. There's a slam of the door as Sam leaves, rattling the hinges of the place with the force of his exit.

“Why? Give me this one little kick, Cas,” Dean replies. His eyes are Disney-princess-wide now, a pretty little smile on his lips. They’re still as green as ever, and it’s killing Cas, it’s really killing him now. “There’s nothing I can do to you, as much as I’d like to … unzip my pants, or have you unzip them, let’s go with that, you give me a handjob and just swallow me fucking whole with your lips all over my body. I’m harmless.”

Castiel’s breath catches, and he shakes his head, walks over to the supplies. A second later he’s got a syringe in his hand and a shadow over his face, and he walks over to Dean and lets his hand hover over the demon’s exposed skin.

“We can go back to the way things were,” Dean purrs. “I know you don’t want to.”

There’s authentic anguish written all over Cas’s face. It’s delicious because Dean can see the angel’s face flush red, pants straining. And it gives him a happy sort of shiver all over that he can’t quite explain, makes the ecstasy flow faster. “I know you’d go back to the way things were in a heartbeat ‘cause I’m a stranger now, but you want this so badly that you’re thinking it, you’re thinking about setting the needle down and sticking your hand in for one ride around the sun, just one. And then it’ll be over and I can be human again and we can all be saved, but you had this little stint in the devil’s trap to show you what living’s really like.”

Cas’s breath is ragged, jagged, if Dean had to pick a word for it. Like it was walking a razor’s edge between these two possibilities. His rough lips part and close again, twice, the needle still hovering over Dean’s skin. And as much as it surprises him, he knows the angel’s really thinking it: he’s had no reason in millennia to do something like this, but now there’s almost nothing left, and who knows if Dean will be the same when he’s human again? Your one chance, Cas. Dean laughs aloud in the angel’s face.

He strains against the handcuffs and straps toward the angel and he keeps talking. “There’s really something profound going on here, and it’s a shame to let it go to waste. Angel, demon. Hell, it’s a ready-made, set-to-go gay porno, first-class. But you get past all that and down to the -” Dean coughs this out, like he’s trying to expel the last dregs of emotion, “- the human touch, well, I’d always been very top-down with my love interests. You know, nice looks, uncover the nice personality later on. You, though. Jesus. You wormed your way down until your self was fuckin’ everywhere on your face, your body. You follow? Your personality kind of became your physical presence, and that - after I’d gotten way too attached - that was when I started the wet dreams. Buddy, you got some hands.” Chuckle.

Cas is physically trembling now, and even from this distance Dean can practically sense Sam’s raging discomfort in his attempt not to listen. When Cas looks down and Dean finally catches him directly in the eye he can see the angel grace swirling just beneath the skin. It’s not as overt as he thought it would be. Still Cas, still his (well, Jimmy Novak’s) face, just stretched over an extra dosage of celestial light. It was spectacular, if you were into that sort of thing.

Wait - there it was - almost, almost … and Cas drops the syringe on his way to plunge it in, grabs Dean’s arm, and then before Dean’s prepared for the sensation he can feel the angel’s other hand on the fly of his jeans. He figures it was intentional, if only on some subconscious level. There was no way the angel would go butterfingers now. And then, as if in fervent assent, his hands pick delicately at the button and the zipper and curl around Dean’s erection. The angel still looks petrified, furious, and somehow elated, but he can manage enough composure to blurt out, “You’re … going commando.”

“There’s that pop culture knowledge,” Dean shoots back, and shoots Cas a wolfish smile. He has him. He realizes it, he has him, has him wrapped around his fingers, has him wrapped around his dick almost helplessly. Like it was the inevitable choice. That’s the way it feels, when Cas starts jerking from the middle and smoothing his perfect fucking hands over the penis.

 _Hah. Perfect fucking hands,_ Dean thinks, chuckles almost deliriously. He doesn’t quite realize he’s saying it aloud, because he’s still watching Cas’s face with sadistic and masochistic glee. “Perfect, _fucking_ hands.”

Cas glances into his face, looking half-affronted and half-aroused, and Dean takes the chance to let his eyes fill into black and grin even wider. That’s when Cas’s throat does a hot little growling thing deep in its base, and he twitches, leans imperceptibly closer. He’s hating himself. Dean feels warm and fuzzy when he thinks about that, he really does. Cas is so fucking gratified and he fucking hates himself right now, it’s written all over his face. So when the angel ducks forward and plants his mouth on Dean’s, Dean sees it coming from a mile away: the angel giving in. Hot and moist, slipping their lips over and under and rolling their writhing tongues over one another in the cavern. Dean’s straining against the chair until it tilts forward, and Cas is just … he’s giving in, he’s fucking dominating and it’s so fucking kinky and Dean’s just pulsing with the sick euphoria. Cas keeps going with his hand and reaches up with the other, sliding it over the back of Dean’s head and bringing him in closer. He’s half-leaning in the chair now, on top of Dean.

Then his face pulls back at once and his left hand leaves; Dean’s already on the edge and he isn’t even half a handjob through this. There’s this twisted pleasure on Castiel’s face, no more fear there that Dean can see, the lips pulled into a cocky tilt.

Dean looks ravenous.

If he didn’t know better Dean’d think that Cas was about to laugh, but he steps back off the chair and zips up Dean’s pants, buttons them up and snatches the syringe from the floor. Dean’s about ready to topple the chair over and he’s not sure whether he wants to rip the angel’s throat out or, well, rip his pants off.

Both, both is good.

Both at the same time. 


End file.
